I have washed almost all the loads of laundry that have piled up in my bedroom for the last three weeks. They were threatening to unite and apply for their own zip code. Yes, the laundry needed to be done, and I'm very tempted to undertake a massive cleaning and organizing effort in my office as well, but the truth of the matter is, I'm really just avoiding what really needs to be done. I've got many articles to proofead and a take-home quiz for class tomorrow that has yet to see the outside of my backpack, and at some point, I need to get caught up with some short papers I have to write for another class.
The house always benefits from big school projects. Never are the mirrors less spotty, the laundry more clean, nor my office more organized than when I've an annoying deadline looming just days or hours away. Even this, my new blog, benefits from more pressing priorities. Certainly my entry today could wait. But no!
Why, I haven't really anything to write about.
I'm sure I'm boring my one imaginary reader, my hermit in Shropshire, with my nothing-to-write-about-ness. Sorry, Niamh. (I've named him Niamh.)
Incidentally, the tagline for the Shropshire tourist board is, "Can we tempt you...?" That sounds a bit like a sheepish plea, some half-hearted attempt. What do you mean, "can we tempt you...?" Not with an attitude like that! And not with noncomittal elipses trailing at the end of the question. Just get off your duff and tempt me, damnit! "The funniest thing to come out of Shropshire" at first blush doesn't inspire me to shell out the dough for a trip across the big pond the way a chance to participate in a "muy caliente" tomato orgy in Spain would. But to ask my permission to be seduced? What? Seduce, me Shropshire. Show me what you got. However, when I inquire about activities like dining in your area, please refrain from directing me to a site about a syndrome that sounds like the love child of acid reflux and wheat allergy. That is just unappetizing!